


Rain

by lightbrand



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War, Fire Emblem: Thracia 776
Genre: Daddy Issues, Emotions, M/M, fluff/angst, talking it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 17:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightbrand/pseuds/lightbrand
Summary: Sometimes you don’t need forgiveness to move on.Leif is kept awake by the legacy of his father, and Sety offers advice.





	Rain

A cool breeze blew through the hills and carried with it the crisp scent of a gentle spring night. The wind carried with it a feeling of calm, a feeling of renewal, yet the young prince of Leonster could do nothing but pace restlessly, his mind wandering in its own thoughts. Quiet surrounded him, the only break from the silence being the steady rhythm of his breath and the soft sound of his boots tramping down the damp soil. Gentle starlight flickered in and out, peeking through the clouds and glinting off the hilt of his sword. By the height of the moon, he guessed it was the early hours of the morning.

Leif looked over his shoulder at the Liberation Army’s camp. All the tents were dark; he had made sure of that before he left the campsite. He didn’t want anyone to follow him. Nights like this were the only ones he felt calm enough to relax at all, since his days were usually spent holding his head high with the facade of confidence. He was the heir of House Leonster, and the future king of the now One Kingdom of Thracia. There was no room for weakness or flaw. His position and the legacy of his father wouldn’t allow it. 

He bit his lip, the thought of his father weighing heavy in his mind. 

Quan Njörun Claus, Prince of Leonster. Wielder of the Gáe Bolg, Heir to the blood of the Crusader Njörun. 

Countless stories Finn had told him in his youth chronicled the days of his father’s journey while in Lord Sigurd’s army. Leif always sat, eyes wide in wonder, listening to tales of heroism, of knights and kings; of his mother and father, and of their untimely demise at the hands of Thracia’s Dragon Knights. 

Yet as his own journey through the war-torn Thracian peninsula revealed to him the true nature of the conflict in Thracia, his heart felt unsure. The bitter scars of poverty and war still lingered. There was no person spared by the fighting between the split factions of the former unified nation; Leif had seen the aftermath firsthand. He couldn’t understand the look in Finn’s eyes the day he first saw the villages outside of Fianna. The children in the streets, the rundown houses, the elderly displaced from their homes holding onto whatever possessions they had left. Leif heard them talking of their troubles to Eyvel. Tales of villages being stormed by brigands, ships being looted by pirates, people being taken hostage by knights of Manster. Long were the lists of fathers and sons captured by forces of Manster, and longer still were the lists of names of children and villagers that had either starved or gone missing from their homes, the blame for which was often placed on the Manster armies. 

There was, however never any hatred in their voices towards their king. No Thracians seemed to talk ill of their king, murderous king Travant, the tyrant king who had slaughtered his mother and father and stolen his sister as his own, only as a vessel for the divine weapon!

Eyvel explained to him the war that had been ongoing between the Manster district and the rest of the Thracian peninsula. After their secession, Leonster and the other kingdoms of Manster held the lush landscape of the north for themselves, growing prosperous and leaving the rest of their former countrymen to starve. For fun, those belonging to Manster’s armies would often visit the poor villages, riding by the windows simply to flaunt what they possessed to those who scarce had the luxury of food on their tables every night. 

The thought of such selfishness drove Leif to anger. How could the man he idolized, his own father, be part of such cruelty? How could Finn hide the truth from him for so long? His heart ached, knowing there was so much he couldn’t understand, so much he could never ask his father’s cold, dead body that rested, perhaps scattered, under the sands of the Yied desert. 

A gentle rumble in the distance took him out of his thoughts. Thunder. He turned to face the hills and saw dark clouds alight with thunder and heavy with rain. The storm might have been about an hour off, from what he could tell. Just a little while longer. He took a quick look over his shoulder to see that the camp was still quiet. 

Save for a lone figure, walking briskly towards him. 

From what little moonlight remained, Leif could make out a tall, lanky silhouette just outside the tents, slowly making its way towards him. He held his hand over the hilt of Light Brand, his jaw quivering slightly. A single theif or assassin wouldn’t move slowly, much less attack in the open on such a night. Leif gripped his sword as the figure, he guessed a man, spoke.

“Leif?”

The voice was gentle. It carried on the breeze, just loud enough that he could understand his name being spoken. 

“What are you doing out this late? And before a storm, no less?”

Leif recognized the voice. He could make out the slight green hue of his hair in the faint light. The prince of Silesse. 

“I—Lord Sety—“  
“I thought we all agreed to drop titles once we banded with Seliph.” He spoke with a calm conviction, and a hint of concern. “We’ve been searching for you across the camp. What are you doing out here?”

Leif stared at him blankly, still partially lost in his thoughts. He was close enough that he could make out Sety’s face and distinguish between his odd-colored eyes. 

“I...came out here to think. It’s hard to escape my duties during the day, and I get restless some nights just thinking, so I...walk.” He released the grip on his sword, and rubbed the back of his neck.  
“Alone? On a cloudy night? Don’t you know that this part of Thracia is still dangerous?” Sety scolded him. “It’s positively crawling with brigands and common cutpurses, not to mention assassins who want nothing more than the prince’s head on a platter,” he complained, his voice tinged with concern.

Leif sighed. 

“There’s no time to think otherwise! Not about this!” Leif protested.  
“So you come out on a stormy night and let your emotions continue to boil over?”  
“I—“ Leif hesitated. “—I don’t want to trouble anyone.”  
“Trouble anyone? This is the same conversation we had in Thracia.” Sety’s gaze firmed. “You still think so little of yourself?”  
“It’s not that, I just—it’s about my...father.” 

The word itself seemed to sting as it fell from his mouth. It gave the air a sort of bitterness, hanging awkwardly before blowing away with the wind. Sety raised his eyebrows. 

“Is it about Yied? Or is it about Manster and the—“ His voice trailed off. The topic of Manster’s cruelty, of the pain of the Thracian people was sore. Even moreso for the two of them, the ordeal still fresh and heavy on their minds and hearts. 

“I suppose so,” Leif answered. “I can’t stop thinking about how others regard him—heroic, noble, a man for his country—when I’ve seen what Manster has done. The selfishness behind Leonster’s prosperity. It’s...despicable. I can’t forgive him, but...I still must follow his legacy. Because everyone expects me to. Because my country demands it.”  
“Do you want to forgive him?”

Leif looked to the storm on the horizon. 

“No. I never want to.” He paused. “I’m never going to.”  
“I understand.” Sety turned towards the clouds and placed his hand on Leif’s shoulder. “I know how you feel. The weight of another man’s sins on your shoulders is a heavy weight to bear.” 

Leif looked at his gaze. It was distant, melancholic.  


“There’s men in this world more despicable than you could imagine, Leif.” He sighed. “Selfish men. They live, they take, they watch as others die. No second thoughts. Yet they stay in our legends and history, regarded as heroes.”  
“Is this about—“  
“My father. Your father. They have some similarities, don’t you think?” 

He turned to look at Leif, giving him a smile that kept sadness behind it. The emotion in his eyes told the story of a soldier that had lived through months of ruthless, brutal war. Not the bright eyes of a young man, not even past his teenage years. They were sunken in, dark circles contrasting with the rich brown and vibrant green in his irises. 

 

“My point is that...there’s no reason to forgive him for what he’s done. The legacy of your father will stay buried in the sands along with him. No child should be forced into what you’ve had to do.” Anger had begun to seep into his words. “No child should have to go through what any of us have. You, me, Seliph, Julia, Ares, Altena—we’re suffering because of the arrogance of our fathers. Robbed of our childhood, we fight—but for what? For whose sake is this damned war? For the sakes of dead men?” 

His voice had become furious, his words dripping with venom. The wind howled; thunder clapped. Cold drops of rain had begun to wet their clothes, steadily growing from a drizzle to a downpour.

“I...don’t know,” Leif answered. “There’s no answer, I think. A dead man won’t know if I’ve forgiven him or not. And yet—“  
“—And yet we still wonder.”

Leif looked to Sety, whose eyes had now drifted to the ground and whose voice had grown so quiet that it was muffled by the steady sound of the rain. They stood together, soaked down to the bone. Sety reached down, grasping one of Leif’s hands in one of his own. 

“There’s nothing to be done about dead men.” Sety spoke softly. “But those of us left behind...we can certainly try to forgive ourselves, to maybe rid the world of the hatred caused by the people before us. Not for some ‘legacy,’ but of our own will. If nothing else, we can try.” 

Sety released Leif’s hand and reached around his shoulder. With a gentle sigh, Leif leaned in, letting Sety rest his head on top of his own. Rain poured onto their heads, and thunder roared through the hills. Leif gripped Sety’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. They stood quietly, the howling wind chilling their skin through their soaked clothes. 

 

“Hey, Sety?”  
“Yes?”  
“Sometimes, I think you let your emotions boil over, too.”  
Sety chuckled softly. “I try to keep things to myself, but—“  
“Hypocrite,” Leif huffed.  
Sety smiled, his heart feeling somewhat lighter. He rubbed the back of Leif’s hand with his thumb. 

“It’s late. Seliph is still looking for you.”  
“I...forgot about that.” Leif slicked his wet bangs back out of his face. “We should probably head back, but—“  
“But?”  
“I want to thank you first. For talking to me. Not just now, but back then as well, if it wasn’t for you, I—“ 

His voice trailed off with the wind. 

“It was nothing.” Sety gave his hand one final soft embrace in return, and brushed a stray lock of wet hair behind Leif’s ear. “Now let’s go. You’re going to catch cold if you stay out here much longer.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea for a pairing and realized that Quan and Lewyn have some ....similarities. Also PLEASE I’m BEGGING for these emotionally stunted teenagers to like. Communicate. 
> 
> Title inspired by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac because I listened to it while coming up with the story! I hope you enjoyed it lol


End file.
